


What If

by fantasticpandasfanfics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Overwatch Amelie, Talon Tracer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9077884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticpandasfanfics/pseuds/fantasticpandasfanfics
Summary: What if Talon had reached the slipstream wreckage first? What if Tracer had ended up on the enemy's team?





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the amazing artists nikanono, jawlipops, and pota-totoo over on tumblr. Seriously go check them out. This is an AU exploring what if Talon had found Tracer and turned her into their agent. I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.

There is peace to be had sitting in a sniper’s nest high above the city. 

_It's like being a cat,_ her mentor’s words echoed in her head, _hiding, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce._ Adjusting her scope, the predator in position peered down at three Talon agents chatting with each other. They seemed nonchalant, not worried at all about any interference of their mission: a payload delivery. Walking at a calm speed, one threw his head back and laughed.

They almost seemed human. It’s what made the job difficult. Amélie had to justify killing people, actual people with lives and families, to save the families they threatened to ruin. She remembered the bare spot on her finger where the sun shone around an engagement ring, and her hand tightened on her rifle.

_So why am I here_. She thought to herself. There didn’t see to be an immediate threat, and the payload seemed benign enough. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the air crackled with a strange electricity.

“Seems a trifle overkill to send Overwatch’s best agent to intervene my payload.” The voice followed a flash of black as a boot connected with Amélie’s nose. Her face split with pain, tears filled her eyes, and blood splashed down her chin. She rolled, gripping her face in defense.

_Where the hell did they come from?_  Amélie managed to form the thought against a brimming headache.

“Christ.” Amélie felt a boot dig under her ribs and roll her. “This is the best they have to offer? Overwatch is in even shittier shape than I left it.” She felt a sharp pain in her ribs as the assailant swiftly kicked her. Amélie gasped for breath, taking stock of her injuries.

_Broken nose. Cracked, potentially broken rib. Maybe two_. She pried her eyes open to identify her attacker and forgot how to breathe.

“Lena?” Were it not for the very real pain coursing through her right now, Amélie would have sworn she was seeing ghosts. The young woman that stood before her was an echo of the vibrant pilot that once dreamed of joining Overwatch, but she was still there. She was alive. Lena was standing in black attire, boots, pants, leather coat, with a strange red glow illuminating her chest. Red goggles and a sneer clouded her face, but Amélie would recognize that spiked hair anywhere.

“No. Lena is dead. She was left behind to rot by the valiant heroes.” Planting another hard boot to Amélie’s chest, she rolled the sniper closer to the edge of the building. “They call me Tracer now. Fitting, seeing as there was barely a trace of me left after that crash.” Tracer squat down by the defeated hero, taunting Amélie with her words.

“Felt great really. To be left behind by the people I called friends.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now. Actually kind of funny that you’re the best they have to offer and you couldn’t even keep your own husband safe.”

A loud crack split the air, startling Tracer and knocking her down into a sitting position. She gingerly touched her shoulder as Amélie’s pistol smoked from her side. Blood started to trickle down the leather jacket as Tracer chuckled.

“Guess there’s still some fight in you left.” She barely got the words out as Amélie leapt to tackle her. They tumbled a moment before coming to a stop with Amélie’s grip on Tracer’s collar and a fist curled like a snake ready to strike.

“You know. Last lass that had me pinned like this screamed my name six times in one night. Think we could get you to seven?” Tracer’s nose made a sickening crunch behind Amélie’s fist. Gathering a mouth full of blood, she spat to the side, managing a sneer under her broken nose and fat lip. “Ought to determine a safe word first, love.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m thinking 'fruitcake.’ Both because I find it hilarious and because I doubt you’d shout that when-” Amélie dug her knuckles into Tracer’s wounded shoulder, cutting her words off with a choked yelp of pain. “What the fuck do you care?” Tracer shouted through gritted teeth.

“We were friends.” Amélie growled. “How could you join Talon?”

“Talon saved me.” The acid in her words made Amélie pause. “When all my friends left me to die. Or worse.” She spat the word 'friends’ from her mouth like burned food. Amélie leaned back on her haunches, loosening her grip on the smaller woman.

“I never stopped.” A whisper barely escaping her lips.

“What?” Hissed Tracer.

“I never stopped looking for you.” Amélie shook her head, finding eye contact difficult with the once hazel, now red tinted eyes before her. They paused, silence hanging heavy between them, when a loud crackle filled Tracer’s ear.

“Yeah?” She snarled, finger pressed to her ear drum. A pause. “Yeah I heard the gunshot.” She let loose a disgusted sigh and rolled her eyes, looking back at the sniper. “Yeah I found the enemy sniper. I’m dealing with her now.” Removing her finger from her ear, she curled her lip. “Fucking grunts can’t tell a side arm from a rifle shot. They didn’t see the gun so they assume it’s some hidden sniper.” She widened her eyes in a mocking tone.

“Well they weren’t wrong.” Amélie responded, a slight chuckle in her words.

“Don’t take their side.” Tracer shook her head, exasperated. “Tell you what. I’ve had fun. I’ll let you live, so long as you run. Starting now.” Tracer pulled dual pistols from her sides as Amélie somersaulted backwards off Tracer’s lap. She swiped her rifle just as Tracer started firing at her feet. Amélie gracefully dove off the roof, only to launch a grappling hook at the next ledge. She disappeared over the next roof top, leaving Tracer sitting alone. She ran a hand through her spiked bangs and sighed.

“Fuck, Trace. What are you getting yourself into…” She asked the empty air.


	2. Our Wounds

Tracer sat leaning back precariously in a chair, feet propped on the long office table before her. She grasped a pencil by the eraser end and took aim with one eye closed. With a flick of her wrist, she stuck it in the ceiling tile where five others already hung. As she reached for another pencil, a gust of smoke rolled in behind her.

“What are you doing?” came the raspy growl.

“Bored.” Another flip of her wrist sent the next pencil flying, knocking loose one of its predecessors. Reaper extended a gloved hand and quickly caught the pencil, gripping it lightly between his fingers. Looking back to Tracer, he snapped the thin piece of wood easily.

“Now why you gotta waste a perfectly good pencil like that, Gabe?” She chided.

“Don’t call me that.” The thick growl answered.

“Oh what, you want me to call you ‘Reaper’ like a dusty old Halloween decoration?” Even with the mask obscuring his face, Reaper was visibly perturbed. He calmly closed the distance between the two while Tracer set her chair down on all fours. The cloaked man placed a claw on Tracer’s wounded shoulder. The only clue she had been harmed was slight peek of bandage showing through the hole the bullet ripped in her jacket. Not that it mattered, Tracer was convinced Reaper could smell blood. He gripped tightly and Tracer ground her teeth against the pain.

“I heard you failed your mission today.”

“Didn’t fail it. Delivered the payload without a hitch.” She managed through gritted teeth.

“The payload wasn’t your mission, it was bait.”

“Oh yeah?” She whirled on the man, his grip holding her tight in place, “That’s news to me.”

“The sniper was your target.” Tracer’s face flushed with anger at her lack of realization. Of course she wouldn’t be sent to babysit a payload with a group of expendable grunts if there weren’t ulterior motives.

“Look I can’t read your goddamned minds. I was too busy escorting the fucking payload-”

“For the first time in your life.” Reaper dug his claws deeper, voice still level. Tracer started counting her deep breaths.

“-To worry about some fucking sniper.” She finished her thought through gritted teeth. Reaper leaned in close, an awful stench filling Tracer’s nostrils as she tried to maintain her even breaths.

“Not just any sniper. Your old friend, Amélie Lacroix. She just jumped to the top of our hit list.” Tracer choked down a breath of fresh air as Reaper released his grip and ghosted from the room.

“Fucking figures…” Tracer rubbed light circles on her wounded shoulder while she contemplated the news.

–

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” A slow American drawl greeted Amélie as she entered the med bay. An exasperated glare was all the answer McCree needed. “Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” Amélie held her arm across her ribs as if she was holding herself together. She shook her head as Mercy wordlessly gestured to her exam table, shock masking her kind features.

“You really should.” Amélie answered as Angela gripped her chin, examining the nasty state her nose was in.

“He dead?” McCree wore an amused look as he leaned against the desk across from the women.

“Not quite.” Amélie managed before Angela held a rag over her nose.

“Deep breath.” Angela gave her instructions before quickly snapping Amélie’s nose back into place. Tears brimmed in her eyes and blood rushed into the rag while Angela reached for her nanotechnology. “It’ll be sore for a while, and you might still have some bruising, but the pain should subside shortly.” Angela held a glowing hand just over Amélie’s face as she gave her comforting words.

“Now I don’t believe that. I’ve seen you spar before. Anyone so much as thought about givin’ you a bloody nose and you made sure they limped from that fight. How you expect me to believe that whoever did that,” he waved his mechanical hand at her injuries, “is still out there waltzin’ around and alive?” Amélie removed her arm from her ribcage and Angela kneaded the injuries, gauging their intensity. The sniper gritted her teeth while the doctor worked. Simply nodding at McCree was effort enough while Mercy’s healing tech knitted Amélie’s ribs together.

“Do you know who your attacker was?” Angela finally asked after finishing her examination. She gently tugged the now blood soaked rag from Amélie’s face and offered a clean, damp one. Graciously taking the fabric, she ran the cloth over her face, wiping up the rest of the dried blood as she answered.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. I used to run with the worst of the worst. Not much surprises me anymore.” McCree’s crooked grin punctuated his sentence.

“Tracer.” Amélie took a deep breath as a confused look flashed across her companions faces. “Lena.”

“Oxton?!” McCree’s cocky fasçade melted and was replaced with a mix of emotions.

“I thought she was gone…” Angela’s eyes searched the floor for answers.

“We all did.” Amélie’s somber reply came reluctantly. “Talon has her.”

“You mean to tell me she’s not only alive, but she’s also runnin’ with those mangy assholes?” McCree’s voice grew louder the angrier he got. He smacked his hand flat on the desk.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Mercy asked, voice level, hoping she was wrong. Amélie slowly shook her head.

“She thinks we abandoned her. That Talon saved her.”

“She what?! You know how long I scoured that Godforsaken forest looking for her? I spent weeks camped out there with only a tent and a canteen telling myself 'If only I looked a little longer,’ and she thinks those fuckin’ terrorists are her saviors? What the hell happened to her?” McCree was shouting now, waving his arms angrily to emphasize his words. Amélie only shook her head, not knowing how to reply.

“I never stopped looking.” She answered quietly. McCree silently steamed. Angela’s somber eyes swept from each of her companions.

“So who’s going to tell Winston?” Mercy’s words chilled the room as the trio realized what this would do to their ape friend. McCree shook his head and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck.

“I guess I will. You’re in no shape to take a punch,” he gestured to Amélie, his voice much calmer now, “and we can’t very well have the doc getting injured.” He shook his head again and took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

“Grab a jar of peanut butter on your way there.” Amélie suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, so he’s well fed when he crushes my head like a grape?” McCree responded in kind, “Gee, thanks Amé, I’ll remember that.” He shut the door behind him and Angela plopped down on her examination stool beside the table Amélie was perched on.

“You’re really sure it was her?” Mercy asked, still in disbelief.

“I didn’t do this to myself.” She offered a chuckle which relaxed the pair.

“How was she?” Amélie found it hard to make contact with those hopeful blue eyes.

“Angry.” She snapped her head up, staring at the door for a moment, remembering the fight. “I need to talk to Winston actually. She had this, thing,” she gestured to her chest, making an 'O’ with her hands, “it was red and glowing. Helped her sneak up on me, whatever it was. I have to ask Winston if it had anything to do with the Slipstream.”

“Better move quickly, or McCree might have him too riled up to answer anything.” Angela offered a weak smile that Amélie returned.

Amélie took a deep breath, stretching out her newly mended ribs, and darted from the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These works were inspired by the amazing artists that have drawn Talon Tracer pieces over on tumblr. I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.


	3. Truth

Tracer found her prey sitting high above the streets. It was only the glint of sunshine off a scope, but it as more than enough to get her adrenaline pumping. She blinked to the neighboring building, ducking low and hoping she hadn’t given away her position. The sniper remained motionless and a wicked grin grew across her face. She blinked to just behind the sniper and placed the heel of her boot on the prone shooter’s back.

“There’s my favorite pain in the arse.” Tracer smiled as Amélie stiffened. “You look better than I left you. I’m disappointed, you looked good with bruises.”

“How’s your shoulder?” Amélie replied coolly.

“Stings. Thanks for that by the way.” Pulling her pistols from her holsters, she continued, “Unfortunately, I have to cut our fun short this evening. Damn shame really, I wanted that chance to make you scream.” She cocked the hammers on her handguns, an unnecessary, yet intimidating gesture. Amélie rolled to the side, swinging her rifle like a bat and catching the Brit with the stock. Tracer reeled back a few steps, dropping one of her pistols. She brought her free hand to her face, feeling the fat lip and line of blood already forming. Anger flashed across her eyes.

“Alright. That’s how this is gonna play, is it?” She tossed the other pistol to the side and blinked forward, landing a hard punch to Amélie’s jaw. The blow sent her over the edge of the building, but she quickly caught the railing. Wheeling around like a gymnast on a pommel horse, she kicked Tracer flat against her chest. She watched as the device she connected with sputtered and crackled as it hit the concrete roof. Tracer coughed, propping herself up on her elbows. Realizing her rifle was several floors below her, Amélie pulled her side arm and approached her assailant.

“What is that thing?” Amélie, pointing her pistol directly at the glowing harness.

“Now you’re asking the right questions, love.” Tracer bicycle kicked the pistol from Amélie’s hands. But before she could get off the ground, the sniper descended on her with a knife pressed to her throat. Tracer laughed. “Think that scares me? You really don’t know me at all, do you, friend?” The word ‘friend’ spilled off her tongue full of venom.

“I used to.” Amélie snarled. “The Lena I knew would never betray us to Talon.”

“I already told you that Lena is dead.” Tracer snapped back. “And frankly, the feeling is mutual, love. Never thought I’d be saddled between time and space and left out to dry by my friends.” She used the word 'friends’ like an insult. A bead of blood formed at the edge of Amélie’s blade as Tracer leaned into the weapon. “Go on then,” she whispered, “Do it. You never really liked me anyway. Didn’t believe a word of that 'never stopped looking’ nonsense. You didn’t even start looking for me did you-” Amélie gripped Tracer’s collar tight and slammed her back against the concrete.

“We all searched! Day and night! I couldn’t stop, couldn’t sleep until we found the nose of the Slipstream!” Tears bit at the corners of her eyes as her voice rose. “And even then… I looked and looked for you. Until... Until they killed…” She paused, blinking back her tears and taking a breath. “They beat us to the wreckage. They let us know they found you first. They cleaned up every scrap of Winston’s tech leaving him clueless as to how to find you. We were all convinced you were dead.” A few tears fell freely as Tracer tightened her jaw.

“And now here you are. Alive.” Amélie withdrew her blade and leaned back, releasing Tracer from her grasp. “And I can’t-” She choked down a sob. Tracer propped herself on her elbows, searching Amélie’s face. Amélie shook her head, looking away from the Brit.

“I missed you, chérie.”

Tracer’s heart hammered in her chest. To be honest, she had forgotten she had even had one until it threatened to escape her ribcage. Words escaped her as the sniper on her lap struggled against her tears.

“I think you killing me would have been easier.” Tracer pulled off her cracked goggles and wiped Amélie’s cheek. She noted how warm she was and found how starved she was for contact in that moment. Leaving her hand on the French woman’s face, she shook her head.

“Come back to Overwatch with me.” Amélie whispered into her palm, clasping her own hand over the one resting on her cheek.

“I can’t, love. Not after what I’ve done.” They made eye contact for a brief moment before Tracer drew a breath.

“I killed Gérard.”

Amélie froze. Tracer stood silently and walked to the edge of the building. The red light on her chest flickered to life as she turned to the sniper, now a statue on the roof. She gave a mock salute with two fingers and leapt off the edge. Amélie ran to the railing just in time to see the young woman disappear from halfway down her descent only to reappear perfectly standing on the ground. She watched as she ran.

Tracer ran until her lungs caught fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.


	4. Memories

“Is that the new recruit?” Amélie leaned in close to be heard over the roar of plane engines.

“I believe so. Gérard recruited her, no?” Angela replied.

“So I’ve heard. Apparently a ‘promising pilot from the Royal Air Force with a lot of disciplinary problems.’” Amélie nodded her head in a mocking tone as she quoted her fiancee's words.

“Seems he has a type.” Angela elbowed the taller woman in the ribs playfully. Amélie chuckled.

“I was just about to say he has great taste.” She winked.

“Easy, Amé, you’re married now.” The doctor teased.

“Engaged. And had I not met Gérard…” She let her words hang as her eyebrow climbed her forehead. “You should talk to her.” She returned the elbow as they approached a group of pilots discussing post flight.

“Goodness, no.” Angela balked.

“Of course not. You like the straight-laced type, no?” She chuckled at her pun. Mercy rolled her eyes.

“Go, I have some things to attend to.” Angela pulled away slightly.

“You don’t want to meet her?”

“I’ll have the chance later during her physical examination.”

“Lucky.” Amélie playfully chuckled. Angela shook her head as she departed.

The mixed group of young pilots quieted to a whisper as the the woman approached. This was an audition day of sorts, they were meant to impress the members of Overwatch in hopes of joining their ranks. And while Amélie wasn’t on any of the recruitment posters, they still feared and respected the lithe woman.

“Salut.” The soldiers snapped into formation as Amélie greeted them, save for one. The middle most pilot was too busy tying the sleeves of her coveralls together after unzipping the top half. She stood proud in a white undershirt, tucked neatly into the blue coveralls standard of the pilots. A pair of silver tags lay on her chest while a cocky grin hung loosely on her face.

“Hello, love.” The young woman saluted with two fingers, informal and highly contrasting her companions. Amélie’s eyes had not left the girl since her approach.

“You’re all dismissed.” She said clearly, and the pilots let out a collective breath. As they marched away, the young girl turned. “Not you, chérie.” She froze, slowly turning back and narrowing her eyes.

“Am I in trouble?” She asked, cautiously.

“Should you be?” Amélie fired back smoothly.

“Do I want to be?” The smirk returned.

“Easy, chérie.” She waved her hand boasting the engagement ring that shone in the afternoon sunlight.

“Fucking figures.” The girl shook her head, not worried about her language. A small smirk danced on Amélie’s lips as she extended a hand.

“Amélie.” The young woman grasped her hand, giving a curt shake.

“Lena Oxton at your service.” She smiled a winning smile as she spouted her rehearsed line. “Wait,” she paused, “You’re Gérard’s girl, yeah?”

Amélie nodded in reply.

“Lucky bloke.” She whispered under her breath as she turned to grab her helmet.

–

A light pressure on Amélie’s shoulders jolted her from her memories. Blinking a few times, two figures came into view. A massive man had laid a blanket on her shoulders while Angela gently placed a mug of hot liquid in front of her.

“We are worried about you, freundin.” Reinhardt filled the chair opposite of Amélie. “You have been in that window all day.” He gestured to the window seat she had been curled up in. A small breakfast nook was her temporary residence and the German pair took seats on the other side of the small table. Amélie placed her head back against the cool window.

“Is it about her?” He gently prodded. Of course news had spread quickly about Lena’s ‘resurrection.’ Shortly after McCree and Amélie informed Winston, the rest of Overwatch knew. Winston had denied the claims outright, but when he finally realized the pair had no reason to lie, he tore apart the training room. Bots flew in every direction as his roars filled the hallways. His heart hurt and he decided to take that out in the least costly manner. The bots were meant to be destroyed, but seeing them fly through the air prompted onlookers. A few questioned the outburst and that’s when McCree was forced to relinquish the news.

Amélie nodded, keeping her eyes pointed out the window.

“What if I can’t forgive her?” Her voice came softly, barely heard against the pane of glass.

“Whatever you decide, we are behind you-” Reinhardt started.

“She killed Gérard.” Amélie’s voice maintained its calm demeanor as she cut off the man’s words. Reinhardt sat up straighter, placing his hands on his knees. Angela took a deep breath and made eye contact with him. They nodded.

“We’ve all had to make difficult decisions.” Reinhardt responded carefully, pursing his lips at a memory. “Whether you decide to forgive her,” Amélie turned to look at him, “or not. We are behind you one hundred percent.” Although his voice was low, the conviction with which he spoke was booming. Amélie nodded.

“Thank you.” She replied. His face erupted into a smile as he clapped his hands together and stood.

“Great! Now who wants to watch old, terrible, German comedies?” His voice returned to its normal volume as he looked between the women. Amélie simply shook her head, the hint of a smile ghosting her lips.

“Go ahead and start without me. I will join you shortly.” Angela chuckled, patting Reinhardt on the arm.

“I will make popcorn!” He exclaimed, trotting away proudly. Mercy smiled after the man and finally turned back to her friend.

“Café?” Amélie asked reaching for the mug.

“Black as the night and bitter as my ex.” They smiled, the old joke floating between the friends. Amélie inhaled a deep sigh with the mug just below her nose before taking a careful sip.

“I have to ask,” Angela started slowly, treading on eggshells, “Do you still have feelings for her?”

“She killed Gérard.” Amélie repeated after a moment of consideration.

“That’s not what I asked.” They sat stone-faced in silence for a moment.

“You know it’s hard when your best friend is also your therapist.” Amélie chided.

“Both are concerned for you.”

“I don’t know.” She whispered into her coffee. Biting her lip, she seemed on the edge of tears. Angela stood, resting her arm across Amélie’s shoulders and pulling her close.

“Like Reinhardt said, we are with you no matter what you decide.” She placed a gentle peck on the side of the French woman’s head and stood. “You should join us. You probably won’t understand a lick of the language but Reinhardt’s laugh is contagious.” A kind smile graced both of their features as Amélie rose from her position. She stopped a moment, trying to balance both the blanket and the mug in her hands before tugging the cloth tightly in one fist.

“Alright.” She joined Angela in a slow shuffle as they made their way to the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.


	5. Forgiveness

Tracer walked in to the kitchen where Reaper sat waiting for her. Wordlessly passing him, she told her self that maybe, just maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.

He didn’t. Instead Reaper rose to speak, but Tracer cut him off.

“Look. I’ve had a rough go of it today and I’m not in the mood, Gabriel.” She growled, reaching into the freezer for some ice.

“I take it you failed your mission. Again.” His raspy accusation kindled the fire in her eyes.

“Not failed, these things take time, Reyes.” She snapped back, spitting his name like acid from her tongue.

“Then what are you doing instead of killing her?”

“Oh we’re just wanking about on the roof tops having a jolly good time.” Her voice was laced with venom and sarcasm as she slammed the fridge shut. She placed a cold pack on her lips to subside the pain.

“Are you fraternizing with the enemy?” His gaze became more intense as he slowly approached the Brit.

“Define ‘fraternizing.’” She said, removing the ice for a moment to deliver her sass filled line. Reaper ghosted forwarded at an alarming pace. He caught Tracer by the throat, slamming her against the wall and knocking the cool compress from her hand.

“If you’re off fucking that sniper I will grind you into dust.” His calloused growl was made even more pungent by the odor resonating off the cloaked figure.

“Don’t act like you give a goddamn about me or this mission or this organization for that matter. We both know the only reason we stay here is because we have nothing better to do while we look for a way to off ourselves!” Her outburst caused Reaper to go silent. He released the young woman and turned slightly as she rubbed her neck.

“I’m going to give you five minutes-”

“For what?” She hissed.

“-And then I will inform our superiors that you are an ineffective agent.” Tracer’s eyes widened. “Subject to immediate termination.” He took a slow step closer to her. “Which, normally would mean a quick bullet in the skull for most. But for you,” he looked down at the glowing red ring on her chest, “That probably means a lot more experimentation.”

Tracer’s heart thudded against her ribcage. He leaned in close, barely scratching out the whisper as he spoke.

“Run.”

She disappeared through the front door, a tail of red light in her wake.

Tracer ran, pushing the limits of her accelerator and her body. She ran and ran until her legs and lungs screamed for air. She ducked into a nearby alleyway, unsure of how far she had made it or how long she had been running. Placing her hands on her knees, she heaved and retched, but nothing came. Tears streamed down her face as she straightened up and paced. Pacing didn’t make her feel better so she punched the wall. Her knuckles dragged across the brick, carving deep wounds into her hand. She retracted her hand, stretching it and focusing on the pain. It was an awful reminder that this was real, she was really here. Warmth started to trickle down her hand as she formed a few lucid thoughts. She decided she needed a bed to stay for the night, and trotted out from her hiding place.

Gaining her bearings, she jogged over to a local hostel, sneaking in the back door and finding sixty some young people already asleep in the massive room. The room was fitted with lines of bunk beds and looked like it had been transformed from a school gymnasium. Quietly climbing into an empty bunk, she laid silently as gentle snores filled the air. She couldn’t sleep. Her heart raced although her legs were still. After a fruitless effort, she gracefully hopped from the top bunk. She rummaged through a few of the sacks, found gauze for her hand and began the process of bandaging the wound. Her hand was covered in her own dried blood and it coursed with pain. After a few wraps and a nod of approval, she searched a few more bags, piecing together a new outfit from several packs. She huffed, pulling a beanie over her head and exhaustion finally setting in. Climbing back into her empty bed, she collapsed.

She slept only a couple hours, rising before many of the traveling young people had a chance to discover her. Quietly, she tip-toed across the old wood floors and darted out the back door. Pacing the streets made her feel anxious, she was convinced that anyone making eye contact with her was sent to kill her. She eventually ducked off the sidewalk and into the back alleyways, only to walk past a few gangs that gave off the same air for different reasons.

She walked. And walked. And walked. All the while trying to put as much distance between her and Talon as she could. She caught a glare out of the corner of her eye, the familiar sight of light glinting off a sniper’s scope. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, she smiled.

Bounding to the roof top in leaps and blinks, she reached the neighboring building in no time. Her heart raced and her legs ached, but the adrenaline was like a drug. Tucking close behind an HVAC system, she hid as she regained her composure. She jumped out pulling her weapons, having the sense to have kept her pistols on her before she fled Talon. Her smile quickly disappeared. A shooter was no where to be seen, only a sniper rifle set up on a tripod peering down on the city.

 _Shit._ Was all the thought Tracer could muster before an arm closed around her throat. She dropped her weapons, digging her hands over the forearm arm trying to give her space to breathe. She struggled as the taller form behind her retained its advantage.

“You know this is getting real old, real fast.” She hissed, hoping to chastise and delay the inevitable.

“I only want to know why.” The thick French accent responded. Tracer stopped squirming. She wasn’t expecting a trap set up by the sniper. She took a couple breaths, realizing now the grip on her throat hadn’t gotten any tighter and only meant to hold, not kill.

“Why what, love? I’m not a mind reader.” Although she was thankful she wasn’t in immediate danger, she knew very well she could perish on this rooftop nonetheless. She considered this a preferable option to Talon.

“Why did you kill Gérard?” The question was stated bluntly, full of accusation and garnished with pain. Tracer took a deep breath.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me!” She said throwing the shorter woman so she could look her in the eye. “I want to know why! Why you would betray him. Why you would betray us.” The emphasis placed on 'us’ left Amélie breathless. Tracer shrugged, exasperated.

“It was my first mission.” Tracer shook her head, avoiding eye contact. “It was a test of sorts. Prove that I was worth saving. Worth the time and effort they put into this.” She gestured to her chest. “And I was angry. Hurt. I blamed him for getting me into this mess.” She covered the vibrant red light with a hand. Looking to Amélie with the most sincerity she had ever spoken, she said, “It was him or me. They told me if I failed this first mission, they’d rip my accelerator back out. Send me back into that timeless void with a massive hole in my chest.” Her words were quiet and reluctant. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t go back there. I just...”

Amélie stood silently.

“So what now?” Tracer prodded, causing Amélie to look up at her. “You’re judge, jury, and executioner, yeah? Just do me a favor,” She glanced around nervously scanning the opposing rooftops, “Make it quick. Don’t let me suffer.” Amélie looked appalled at Tracer’s resigned nature. She shook her head as Tracer looked back to her. “Please?”

“I forgive you.” Amélie whispered. She did what she previously thought she couldn’t. Her heart hammered in her eardrums. She watched as Tracer’s eyebrows furrowed and she searched the ground for answers.

“I think it would have been easier if you just killed me.” They shared an exasperated chuckle.

“Honestly wanted to a bit ago, but now…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

And she didn’t get the chance.

A crack of thunder rang out causing Tracer to flinch and Amélie to duck. Swiveling her head around, Amélie immediately spotted the enemy sniper and dove to her rifle. Aiming quickly, she managed to eliminate the threat just as a helicopter was heard in the distance. She caught a sea of black flooding the streets as Talon agents took formation below the building. Amélie rolled to her back, taking cover behind the small ledge.

“I need back up at my location immediately!” Amélie yelled into her communicator. She released the device to focus on Tracer’s limp form on the concrete before her. “I have wounded!” She screamed over the radio. She crawled over to Tracer in a panicked search for an entrance wound. She peeled off a stained t-shirt seeing her normal dark uniform below even darker from her blood. The young woman took short shallow breaths, a line of blood trickling from her mouth. Amélie’s hands pressed hard on a ragged hole just an inch from the glowing red ring on her chest, now flickering like the breaths she took.

“Stay with me, ma chérie, stay with me.” She shifted her body weight into keeping the wound compressed. A helicopter descended close to the roof top and Amélie struggled to decide between maintaining pressure on the wound, or reaching for her rifle. Before she had to make a decision, the side door flew open. A primal roar filled the air, drowning out the rotors of the chopper for a brief moment. Winston flew from the craft and disappeared over the edge of the building.

“Our furry friend has got the right idea!” Reinhardt shouted over the communicator, a boisterous laugh resonating in his words. McCree peeked over one of the massive man’s pauldrons and pointed a finger gun at Amélie.

“We’ve got your back.” His slow drawl was heard easily over the radio as he shifted, grabbing his hat with one hand and holding tight to Reinhardt’s armor with the other. The two sailed off the craft together, McCree giving a “Yeehaw!” as they disappeared into the fight.

Mercy glided across from Amélie, brushing her hands close to the convulsing form between them. She looked up at the sorry filled eyes that would not lock with hers.

“Amélie.” Angela demanded her attention with her serious voice, generally reserved for grim diagnoses or delivery of bad news.

Amélie snapped her head up to meet eyes with the medic.

“Do you want me to save her?” Mercy asked. Amélie sputtered incredulously for a moment before answering.

“Yes! Please amie, please save her.” That was all the answer she needed as she waved a hand above her head. Amélie removed her hands as the convulsing stopped. There was silence for a moment, only interrupted by the slam of a hammer against metal. She swiveled her head around to see the stout Torbjörn setting up a turret at the edge of the building. She turned back to the limp form before her and whispered in French.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you both…” Angela watched silently, not knowing the language, but understanding the meaning of her words.

Grappling hooks dug into the side of the building next to the turret. The Swedish man growled and kicked one loose, a sickening scream was heard floors below.

“We’re going to have to move soon!” The engineer announced as he poured molten metal down the next hook. “Ha! Try that on for size!” He yelled in response to the following yelps of pain. A flash of fire passed close by the short man, knocking three more ropes loose and causing him to stumble backwards to avoid singeing his beard. “Watch where you’re firing that thing, you old coot!” The insult echoed across the communicators.

“Who are you calling old?” Reinhardt fired back with a laugh.

A cough snapped Amélie’s attention back to the young woman before her. She rolled to one side, retching a puddle of blood. She spit a tiny metallic shard that skipped across the concrete and rolled to her back. She gasped for air, large panicked breaths before she began digging at her chest with her fingers.

“Restrain her arms.” Mercy’s orders were followed instantly as she hovered her golden hands over Tracer’s chest. Her breathing evened as she blinked taking in her surroundings.

“Think you ought to buy me a drink first.” She choked out a raspy laugh, her smirk extended by the line of dark dry blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. The women all let loose a relieved chuckle.

“I think you owe Angela one for saving your smartass.” Amélie’s eyes glowed.

“Yeah, yeah, round of drinks for everyone if we make it out of this alive.” Torbjörn shouted over the gunfire. “The turret will cover our exit, can we move?”

“Carry her.” Mercy instructed Amélie. Scooping the smaller woman effortlessly, they trotted to the helicopter.

“Medical evac is a go.” The pilot’s voice rang on her the communicators as Amélie watched the battle from above. Torbjörn stayed with his turret, not missing the opportunity to lay fire into the soldiers below him. She saw black forms flying through the air as Winston pummeled the crowd. Reinhardt charged forward to meet the ape, swinging his hammer and threatening to crush just as many men. McCree hung back, picking off any stragglers that managed to escape the two massive men.

“Your exfil is two clicks out, gentlemen.” Another pilot’s voice rang over the comms.

“Take your time, we’re havin’ fun. First boys night out in a long while.” McCree’s drawl answered, assuring their safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.


	6. Revelations

Tracer blinked, a slow groan escaping her throat. A dark form loomed over her, out of focus to her groggy eyes. Panic tightened in her chest.

 _No, not him._ She balled up her fist, ready to strike like a snake. Beeping filled her ears and added to her confusion. 

  
"Woah, woah, woah!" A big hand flew up to catch her wrist, narrowly avoiding a left hook. Lena blinked, forcing the face into focus. A scruffy ape met her eyes. He set down a pen-like tool and snapped the glass on her chest shut with his free hand.  
  
"Wha- The hell you poking around in me chest for?!" Her voice was hoarse from disuse. Confusion still swam in her brain but she was slowly taking in her surroundings. Her accelerator pulsated with her racing heart as she lowered her fist. Winston released her wrist, and settled onto the stool by her bedside.  
  
"I- You weren't waking up and Angela wanted me to take a look at the tech, she wasn't familiar with it and she wanted to make sure it wasn't faulty and-" He rambled a bit before taking a breath. "You... You're alive. You're really here." He leaned into her, smothering the small Brit in a crushing hug.  
  
"Won't be for long you keep that up." She choked out. He winced back, grumbling out an apology. Angela walked in, concern masking her features.  
  
"Ah, you're awake. Explains the alarms." Mercy began looking over the equipment hovering by Lena's head, dismissing various alerts and checking her IV drip. "So it was the, what was it, the accelerator?" She nodded at Tracer's chest, addressing Winston.  
  
"I'm not sure. Might have caused a spark that jump-started her heart."  
  
"That is my heart now. Or what's left of it. Big hole where they cut it out to make room for this." Lena mumbled, half awake now, tapping on the glass sealing her accelerator. She traced the scarring around the metal between her breasts. "It goes, I go..." Her eyes darkened as her tone dropped.  
  
"Winston, could you give us a moment?" Angela held out an arm towards towards the door. Winston looked between the women before reluctantly agreeing. He sauntering across the room, stopping to turn.  
  
"I'm glad you're back with us, Lena." She nodded, avoiding eye contact.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Angela began as the door snapped shut.  
  
"Mentally or physically?" She responded, a touch of sarcasm peppering her words as she slumped her head back against the pillow.  
  
"Let's start with physically." Lena stared at the ceiling.  
  
"Like I've been hit by a truck, then the arsehole threw it in reverse and ran me over again for good measure." Angela simply nodded.  
  
"And mentally?" She quirked a single blonde eyebrow.  
  
"Like you should have left me to bleed out on that roof." Lena responded after a long sigh.  
  
"Wasn't really my choice." Angela idly tapped on the monitors by Lena's bedside as the Brit turned to face her. Eyebrows furrowed and face contorted.  
  
"Then who's choice was it?" She asked, venom in her tone.  
  
"Amélie is my best friend and she would have never forgiven me had I left you up there. She's given you a second chance," Angela turned to Lena, "Don't waste it."  
  
Lena felt like she was being reprimanded. Maybe warned? She wasn't sure which, but she couldn't maintain eye contact either way. She glanced around the room before asking sheepishly, "Where is she anyway?"  
  
"She was getting restless. Driving me up the wall. So I sent her on a mission."  
  
"Thought she was your best friend?"  
  
"You haven't had a best friend if they haven't driven you crazy." A small chuckle escaped both of them, defusing some of the tension in the room. Angela checked the IV drip once more, making slight adjustments before speaking again.  
  
"Do me a favor and pretend like you're still out. Wake back up when she gets back."  
  
"How long have I been out?" Sleep started to overtake her, despite her attempts to fight it.  
  
"Too long."  
  
\--  
  
"You're awake." Relief filled the tone of the hand brushing aside Lena's bangs.  
  
"You can't prove that." She grumbled back. A gentle laugh filled the silence as Tracer opened her eyes. Amélie's smile met her eyes and before they darted towards where the monitors were once located. She mentally thanked whoever disconnected her EKG before it could give away her heart pounding. Shaking her head she cursed herself for reacting like that before warm lips gently pecked her cheek.  
  
"There's clothes at your feet when you're ready, chérie." Lena took a few slow breaths. After hearing the door shut, she sat up. Taking in her surroundings, she felt a soreness building in her chest. Her hand slid over the tender flesh starting to scar just above her accelerator. She looked at the neatly folded pile of clothing at the foot of her bed. Taking another slow breath, as if testing out her lungs, she swung her feet off the bed. She snagged the shirt, holding it up against the hospital gown she was sporting. Her eyes rolled when she saw the Overwatch logo emblazed on the chest.  
  
"Fucking of course." she chuckled to herself.  
  
\--  
  
Tracer took slow cautious steps around the base, familiarizing herself with the layout. A waft of greasy, delicious cooking food caught her attention as her stomach growled in protest. She followed the scent into the kitchen two more doors down.  
  
"Well, good mornin'." A slow American drawl greeted her. She scanned the room, finding McCree standing at a griddle angrily sizzling. Nodding in response, she slowly approached the fridge just behind the cowboy. "Hungry?" He smiled, poking strips of bacon with a fork.  
  
"Parched actually." She lied as her stomach betrayed her. McCree let loose a low, raspy laugh.  
  
"You sure about that?" He asked, handing her a piece balanced precariously on the end of a fork. "Careful, it's still hot." He warned as she eyed the offering. She finally decided to take the bacon, pinching it between the ends of her fingers.  
  
"I don't deserve this..."  
  
"It's bacon, not a Nobel Peace Prize."  
  
"No I mean-" She sighed, shaking her head, "I don't deserve this. Not breakfast, not this, not a second chance..."  
  
"You know all of us said that once. Winston, after the moon. Angela, after the Swiss headquarters. Even I did." She slumped against the counter as she tilted her head. "I ever tell you how I joined Overwatch?" Lena shook her head. "I was seventeen years old, and I did what any stupid teenager did, and back talked my father figure, if you could call him that. Leader of the Deadlock Gang, don't even remember what I said to him now, just remember that he looked at me like I had just kicked his dog. Told me I needed taught a lesson. Left me holding the handbag on a big heist that Overwatch just so happened to bust. 'Jesse McCree, Fearsome Outlaw of the Deadlock Gang Captured by the Brave Heroes of Overwatch.' That's what all the news stations reported." He smiled, reminiscing. "Threw me in cuffs and left me to wait in an interrogation room. And in who walks none other than Gabriel Reyes himself. He takes one look at me and you know what he says? 'You gotta be fucking kidding me.' and walks right the hell out of the room again. It's quiet for a while. Then he walks back in again and gives me that stank face he would always make, you know the one." McCree gestured to his own face while curling his lip. "Looks at you like he just watched you spit in his lunch? That look." Lena chuckles.  
  
"Looks right at me and asks 'How old are you, vaquero?' And you know what my dumbass said?" He cocks an eyebrow at Tracer. "I go, 'Old enough to slit your fucking throat.' 'cause I thought I was some tough shit, right? He leans across that table and says, 'I eat shit like you for breakfast, puto.' And without missing a beat I go, 'You eat shit for breakfast?'" McCree spoke through a toothy smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That bastard sits back in his chair and laughs. Now kid like me is offended. What do you say to a man laughing at you while you're in cuffs? He wipes a tear from his eye and goes 'I like you, kid. Tell you what. I'm gonna give you a second chance and a job.' And just like that, I was in Overwatch. You better believe after all the people I killed and the places I robbed I didn't think I deserved a second chance. But if Reyes hadn't given that to me, I'd probably still be running with the worst of the worst. Or dead." Tracer watched intently, listening to his story.  
  
"Now Amélie is giving you the same chance I got. I'll give you the same advice the old man gave me. Before I signed on the dotted line he looked me right in the eye and said, 'Don't fuck this up.'" McCree pointed at Lena as if he were remembering the moment from Reyes's point of view. Lena looked down, nodding a couple times. The corner of her mouth pulled into a slight smile as she crunched on the now cool bacon in her hand.  
  
"You're not threatening her, are you ami?" Amélie walked into the kitchen, padding quietly across the tile. Her tone suggested she was kidding, but the look on her face hinted that he had _better_ be kidding.  
  
"Nah, just story tellin' is all. Mornin' Amé." He greeted the frenchwoman warmly. "Coffee's already on."  
  
"Merci." She smiled and strode over to Lena, placing a soft peck on her forehead before reaching over her head to grab a coffee mug. "Café?" Pressed between Amélie and the counter, Lena had a hard time forming thoughts.  
  
"I- what?" She sputtered.  
  
"Coffee, chérie?" Amélie chuckled, cocking an eyebrow at the Brit. 

 _How could she be so casual about this... Closeness?_ Tracer's chest ached as her heart thrummed.  
  
"Oh. No. No I'll take tea if you have it." Recovering slightly and shaking her head in disgust at the offer.  
  
"English." Amélie scoffed and rolled her eyes to look at McCree. She walked towards the coffee maker, two mugs in hand. Lena tried to look offend but couldn't help herself when McCree and Amélie began chuckling.  
  
"Something smells absolutely divine." Angela walked in, stretching in the doorway, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts. Amélie slid a mug across the counter towards the medic and took a seat on the counter next to Lena. As she raised her mug to her lips, she winked at the younger woman and whispered.  
  
"Watch this." She hissed into her mug. "Angela," she asked innocently, "What does 'HSI' stand for?" All heads in the kitchen swiveled to the doctor in confusion. Her shirt bore the giant letters across her chest as a blush crept up her neck.  
  
"I- It stands for Helix Security International." She faltered at first, quickly recovering and trying to keep an even tone.  
  
"Mmhmm. I don't remember you having a shirt like that?" She prodded, elbowing Lena, who remained confused.  
  
"It's new." She answered confidently.  
  
"How new?" Amélie called her bluff as Angela reached for her mug.  
  
"Ang, I think you grabbed the wrong... Shirt..." A tall, lean Egyptian soldier stopped at the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She wore a sports bra and jeans, and nothing else. As Lena spotted the word 'Amari' embroidered on the sleeve of Angela's shirt, she blurted out her realization.  
  
"Wait. Amari? As in Captain Amari?" She announced, her voice rising as she connected all the pieces in her head. She turned to Angela, "You're screwin' Captain Amari's daughter?!" McCree and Amélie burst into laughter as Angela grew as red as the mug she was holding. She set down the mug, spinning on one heel and pushing the younger Amari out of the kitchen. A smile decorated the soldier's face, crinkling the tattoo under her eye. Fareeha resisted only slightly, letting herself be pushed knowing full well the doctor couldn't overpower her.  
  
"But Angela! There's breakfast!" She let loose a mirthful laugh that echoed down the hallway.  
  
"A lot has changed around here, huh?" Lena still looked shocked.  
  
"Not much, Winston still eats three jars of peanut butter a day, Reinhardt still watches bad German comedies, and McCree still makes terrible jokes." Amélie chuckled leaning into the younger woman.  
  
"Amélie still doesn't pull her weight for breakfast." He glared but smiled as he spoke, "Plates, Amé." She hopped from the counter, reaching into the next cabinet over.  
  
"McCree still won't shave that stupid beard."  
  
"Amélie still dances ballet when she thinks no one is watching." They continued their banter as they approached the round breakfast table.  
  
"He still wears that ridiculous cowboy outfit."  
  
"She might as well be wearing nothing at all."  
  
"You would like that wouldn't you."  
  
"I might." He winked and the pair of women laughed.  
  
"I smell breakfast!" A bellowing voice erupted from the entrance. Reinhardt ducked under the door frame slightly and beamed at the trio setting the table. "Nothing warms my heart more than seeing a family breakfast." He smiled before scanning the room. "Where is Angela?"  
  
"Why don't you ask her date?" McCree chuckled under his breath as Amélie elbowed him, holding back a laugh herself. Reinhardt furrowed his eyebrows as Amélie covered for their friend.  
  
"She'll be joining us shortly. Had a few things to take care of." She turned to Lena, giving a knowing smile. "You going to join us over here?"  
  
Tracer sat in awe of the scene unfolding before her. There at the table were people who genuinely cared for her; Not for how useful she was, nor for what they could get out of her. They laughed together, ate together, and  _smiled._ She thought on all the moments she spent with Talon because she thought there was "nothing better for her."  
  
These people, didn't exist.   
  
This  _happiness_ didn't exist. 

And now they do. Right here.   
  
_With my friends_ , she thought. She smiled and pushed herself from the counter, taking slow strides to the table. 

  
"Beats the hell out of eating with Reaper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the Talon Tracer AU! Thanks for reading! Hopefully within the next few days I'll post up the rest of my stories, but this one was requested the most to have all in one place (rightfully so). These chapters were inspired by the amazing artists that had drawn Talon Tracer works, especially nikanono, jawlipops, and pota-too. Check them out on tumblr and follow my page (fantasticpandasfanfics) as well.
> 
> Feel free to leave any critiques or comments! I'd love to read them. :)
> 
> I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. Feel free to leave any critiques. I'm only now getting around to posting these works on Ao3 but they can all be found on my tumblr fantasticpandasfanfics


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